Three Years
by Clarobell
Summary: A lot can happen in three years, this is my take on some of the things that might have occurred in that time. Eventual B/V. rated for language and some future scenes.
1. The Pitbull & The Chihuahua

**Ahem... *looks around empty room*...uhh... *walks in and dusts off desk and papers***

**Well, hey there Dragonball Z fandom... it's been what, 7 years? I just thought I'd pop by and give you this little thing here... from the title you can probably tell it's yet another take on the three year training gap before the androids. I haven't actually had anything to do with DBZ in all this time, so please excuse any errors made. My writing style has changed a lot and so have I, so... yah!**

**Basically this will be updated randomly with random events whenever the fancy takes me really. Please don't expect regular updates. Really the chapters could be taken as oneshots rather than a continuous fiction. They won't be very long either, as I write until I'm happy with what is written rather than trying to meet a word quota.**

**Other than that, I hope you enjoy what I have to offer! :) Both feedback and suggestions are more than welcome!**

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**Three Years**  
**Chapter 1: The Pitbull & The Chihuahua**

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"He's a pig!" Bulma roared, face red and fists clenched by her side. "A disgusting, thoughtless, unfeeling prick!"

"Now, now dear." Her mother replied with a nonchalant smile in place. "He's not all that bad."

"You haven't seen what he's done!" Bulma protested viciously. "To innocent people – to our friends and family!"

"He's still a young man though – they're fiery in their youth you know!" the older woman explained. "Why, when your father was-"

"Ugh, stop right there, Mom." Bulma interrupted with a grimace as she held one hand out to halt her mother's words. Her other arm acted as a cushion for her weary head as she slumped forward with a sigh. "The last words I want to hear in the same sentence right now are 'Dad' and 'fiery'."

"Come on babe," Yamcha spoke up suddenly with a smile as he timidly settled his hands on her shoulders and rubbed them. He's been subjected to Bulma's temper enough times to know he had to tread carefully when she was in this kind of mood. "Vegeta is an asshole and I don't like having him around any more than you do, but I'd rather have him on our side than against us when the androids come."

Bulma rolled her shoulders into his touch and heaved a sigh through her nose. For a moment it looked as though his placating words had worked, but then a low, tremulous rumble from outside once again reminded her of who had flared her temper in the first place. Her head snapped towards the wall that separated them from the Saiyan prince training beyond and she scowled, willing both it and the arrogant man behind it to melt away.

"Well I don't have to stick around to listen to _his lordship's _demands and put up with this bullshit!" she proclaimed as she stood and grabbed Yamcha's hand. "We're going out!"

"W-We are?" Yamcha asked as he stumbled behind his fierce girlfriend.

"We are." Bulma confirmed. "And if the prick breaks anything tell him to ask daddy to fix it or wait until I'm good and read-EEE!" she shrieked as she suddenly bounced off _the prick's _chest and staggered back into Yamcha's waiting arms.

She'd been so absorbed in her tirade she hadn't bothered to look where she was going. Now he stood before her, glaring at her with those frigid obsidian eyes that made her feel smaller than an ant. For a heartbeat time seemed frozen as she felt a strangling grip of fear take hold of her insides and twist them into a quivering mess. For all her brazen remarks she held no delusion that Vegeta couldn't kill crush her between his thumb and finger like the ant he made her feel. Though he stood only a head taller than her and a good deal shorter than the majority of the Z Warriors, in that moment he looked like a giant. Time finally caught up to their moment and Vegeta's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as the corners of his lips twisted into an ugly scowl.

"Mind where you walk, wench." He barked as he pushed past both she and Yamcha on his way to the fridge.

With those words the invisible band of fear that had strangled both the breath and words from Bulma's throat snapped, and dissolved the paralysing fear she felt only moments earlier. Before she had a chance to spit out her thoughts on the arrogant alien however Yamcha leapt to her defence.

"Watch your mouth, Vegeta!" he shouted, and Bulma felt his hand clasped in hers tighten protectively. "Or you might find yourself out on the streets!"

Vegeta snorted as he grabbed an apple from a large bowl of fruit on the counter, obviously amused by Yamcha's threat. "Are you threatening to _throw me out_, human?" he asked, a wicked glint shining in his eyes as though he welcomed to opportunity to be violent. "You and what army?"

"If I had my way you wouldn't have even been allowed to stay on this planet, let alone here!" Yamcha spat back.

"Well I'm here, pathetic human." The price stated arrogantly, eyes alight with the prospect of a fight. "And I'll say and do as I please. If you don't like it, why don't you try and stop me?"

Bulma could feel Yamcha's hand trembling in her own, his sweaty palm holding her own in a vice like grip. She glanced up to his face, his burning cheeks crimson with rage and humiliation. He had no reply to Vegeta's verbal challenge – to take on the Saiyan would be suicide. He'd learned that the hard way when he'd tested his own strength against Vegeta's Gravity room.

"What's wrong, human?" Vegeta taunted as he took a bite of the apple. The room was so silent the crunch of the flesh tearing away seemed to echo off the walls. "Or are you so much a coward that you need your precious _Kakarot _to back up your threats?"

Vegeta didn't wait for any response, quickly bored with the earthling's empty challenge and turned his back on Yamcha, more interested in the contents of the refrigerator. Bulma didn't wait to find out if Yamcha dared attack Vegeta as she gave his arm a tug to bring his attention back to her.

"Come on Yamcha." She said coolly, nothing in her tone betraying the anxiety that made her insides quiver. "Don't waste your breath."

Yamcha seemed relieved by Bulma's intervention as he easily followed her lead towards the door, though the encounter left a nasty sting in his pride.

"Bring back more food, woman!" Vegeta barked after them, though he didn't turn his attention from the food.

Bulma ground her teeth together and chose to bite her tongue instead of reply with the crude comment in her head. It was dangerous enough living under the same roof as a mass murderer, let along provoking him. There was a limit to how far Vegeta could be pushed, and though he seemed unaffected by the entire ordeal, Bulma had a feeling they were nearing that limit and so instead she led her boyfriend from the house.

As they walked down the path not quite sure where they were heading but glad to be away from Vegeta, they breathed a joint sigh of relief and Yamcha muttered bitterly about the prince's arrogance. Just as before they turned and Capsule Corp would be out of sight, Bulma couldn't help but glance back, just in time to see Vegeta glaring after them. A shudder ran down her spine as her eyes once again met empty ebony orbs and she quickly turned away.

Vegeta wasn't a _big _man by any means, but she had to admit; in that kitchen as Yamcha squared up to him, her boyfriend had looked more like a Chihuahua going up against a Pitbull.


	2. He Doesn't Sleep

**This is out a little faster than anticipated, though I have to say I enjoyed writing it! I've played around a little with some background information on Vegeta's home planet. Just a bit, nothing big really, but please excuse if it's incorrect. I'm just using my imagination ;)**

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**Three Years**  
**Chapter 2: He Doesn't Sleep**

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Vegeta didn't _sleep_. Through his lifetime he'd learned that falling asleep without due cure could easily spell your end. As a child maturing under Frieza's rule, he'd quickly learned that the ice-jin's grip spread far further than his arms could reach. It was obvious to any onlooker that Vegeta was considered one of his 'special' collections – a favoured pet, perhaps. Jealousy ran rife through Frieza's minions and without his comrades back in those early days he had little doubt he would have lasted until he was old enough to fend for himself.

Back then he'd had Raditz and Nappa, two warm bodies to drift asleep beside in the knowledge they would guard him until his waking hours. Over the years he became accustomed to the comfort of knowing they were there (not that he'd ever admit such a thing) and the safety their presence promised. He was easily the strongest of their group and had no delusions that any attacker could have overpowered his fellow Saiyan's, but not before he was roused and blasting their sorry soul to the next life. The only other time he considered it safe to truly drop his guard enough to sleep soundly was during the journeys from one world to the next in his pod.

Now stationary on Earth and with no comrades left living to stand guard over him, Vegeta didn't sleep. Every now and again he retired to the room the earthlings had designated him when he was ready to rest. Earth days were shorter than his own planet and so he didn't feel the tug of exhaustion like the earthlings did each night. He'd lived in space so long hopping from one planet to the next that he'd lost any kind of sleep cycle he might have once had years ago. To any onlooker that might stray into his quarters and breach his privacy he may have appeared asleep, eyes closed, body seemingly relaxed. In those moments he allowed his mind to drift in quiet meditation, a chance for his tortured body to recover from the strenuous daily routines it suffered through. Sometimes he dozed lightly, though any sound from a snapped twig to a distant footstep would rouse him from his fragile slumber. He trusted the earthlings no more than they trusted him; so he didn't sleep.

It was no surprise then when the slamming of the front door echoed loudly through the capsule Corp building. In the room they'd given him in the noise was barely audible – to human ears. Vegeta's eyes snapped open, pupils dilating in momentary panic, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his body as he struggling for a moment to comprehend where he was. A deep inhale revealed more than his eyes and ears ever could and was more than enough to remind him. A mixture of artificial scents (floor polish, perfume, chemicals, soap, hair spray etc.) assaulted his nostrils and he quickly snorted to expel the obnoxious odours. His eyes wandered to his closed door as the moonlight shone through his window, reflecting a mixture of agitation and frustration in the dark orbs. He'd just been roused from the closest thing he's experienced to sleep since he'd passed out beside Goku's recovery tank on Namek. The rest he'd experienced on that planet had been blissful, and though he'd only meant to rest his eyes for a few moments, the familiarity of a fellow Saiyan resting nearby had fooled his body to falling into a deeper sleep. That instance alone was a bitter reminder as to why he couldn't let his guard slip – it had been enough to obliterate his plans of wishing for immortality with the dragon. It was also enough to reinforce his belief that the humans (nor the sorry excuse for Saiyan's that were Kakarot and his mongrel son) couldn't be trusted. He hadn't allowed himself to sleep into a real sleep since then, so to be woken from such a pleasant, exhaustion induced half-slumber sparked up his anger.

He sat silently for a moment, still as the empty room around him and listened. Though his hearing was not on the level of the Namekians, it was still superior to the humans. He couldn't make out any distinct words in the distant tirade, but he could clearly hear it was the blue haired woman that was the main cause of the disturbance. From the inflections of her tone she was more than likely upset and the erratic rise and fall in volume gave no question of doubt that she was angry. He'd heard _that _mood enough times in the last week to recognise it.

A sudden holler of insults as Bulma screamed out her frustrations made him wince, his ears ringing. It wasn't loud but her high pitch scream was enough to give him a headache. Truly that woman had a more irritating voice that Frieza and produced language more vile sometimes than half the tyrants he'd met in his lifetime. She was impressively fierce... for a human. That thought did nothing to quell his frustration at being disturbed however and he flopped back onto the too-soft bed with a groan, trying to ignore the distant racket. Confronting the wench would only direct her tirade at him (if he wasn't the cause already as had been the case numerous times in recent weeks) and that would only hurt his ears and worsen his growing headache. He would meditate and try to forget about the pathetic woman and her pitiable problems.


End file.
